~ Third Person P.O.V ~

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he continuously scrubbed away at the red liquid built up on his hands and arms. Large dollops of soap ceaselessly being dropped onto his fingers as he scrubbed as though his life depended on it, the red liquid diluting in color and turning a diaphanous shade of pink as it swirled down the drain of the sink. But there was so much of it on him, he couldn't seem to wash it all away. More and more liquid trickled off his skin and onto his hands, splattered across his face, hair, clothes. Most of it had dried and crusted over in certain areas, but the rest remained fresh and liquified as he desperately attempted to get it off of him.

More choked sobs broke out from the confinements of his lips, his vision blurring with the salty fluids of his tears that welled up in his eyes. There was just too much blood. Closing his eyes he felt as the warm dampness traveled over the mounds of his cheeks, down the column of his neck and mixing with the blood resting there. He could still hear it . . . their screaming.

Begging to be spared, to be shown mercy.

But if the tables were turned he wouldn't have received the mercy he begged for, it was either them or him and his friends. Either he killed that man or let the others die. They were going to kill him, he was certain of it— so he acted on impulse. But he could still hear it, see it, feel it.

The life of another slipping from the depths of their color drained body, and by his won hands at that. The weight of the world resting on his shoulder, the weight of everyone else's lives beating down on his conscious. And if he thought hard enough, honed in on every action he made just twenty minutes ago, everything seemed to move in slow motion while he did it.

His palms sagged as the pressure of the knife weighed down on him, the tip of the sharp blade fulgurating in the singular light dangling above him. Each influx of air that he pulled from the atmosphere and into his lungs, his enemy preparing to lunge forward and shoot him. Next thing he knew he was on the ground . . . on top of him . . . his weapon penetrating the soft flesh . . . the screaming.

God damn it, the fucking screaming just wouldn't stop! He begged him to stop screaming, hot buckets of tears cascading down as he never let up, his hands having a mind of its own. Why didn't he stop?

Shutting off the water, the male sunk to the floor, his soaked fingers gripping at his blood-covered hair. That's when he screamed, his chest squeezing and tightening with every passing second— his reverberating cries filling the tight space of the bathroom as well as his ears. He berated himself as he did so, thinking of himself as a coward for reacting this way.

He would have killed you.

He would have killed your friends.

You did what you had to do.

But that didn't put a halt to the aching pounding in his chest, the sinking feeling that hung on his soul. The image, forever embedded into his mind, of the life of another leaving its body slowly . . . painfully.

And it was all his fault.

*Three hours earlier*

Shoto snorted as Izuku did a spot-on imitation of Katsuki while the trio lay in bed, the blond glaring daggers at his other lover for his chuckles. Albeit, the smile that rested on Katsuki's face signaled he found the green-haired male's antics to be rather humorous.

It was quite late in the evening, however, all three boys were dressed rather properly for just lying in bed. Shoto and Katsuki both sporting tuxedos, while Izuku in more casual everyday attire— trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. The trio had a mission in an hour, after facing the wrath of Aizawa's anger from last weeks fiasco with Izuku running away and not going on the mission, there was finally an opening.

However, before they went the three just wanted nothing more than to bask in each other's presence.

"Are you nervous?" Shoto questioned as he twirled his pocket knife in between his fingers. "This is your first mission," he commented whilst gazing at Izuku.

"A little," The younger admitted, before grabbing onto both of the boys' hands. "But knowing you two will be there with me, kind of eases my nerves, ya know?"

Katsuki smirked as he rolled over, planting a soft kiss on Izuku's neck. "Awe, look at you being all sappy and shit," he cooed, ruffling the blushing male's hair.

"And you aren't?" Shoto countered, cocking an eyebrow at the red-eyed teen.

Since the commence of their relationship, Izuku has learned quite a bit more about the two boys that he hadn't known before. Such as that they were only a few years older than him, which he was genuinely surprised to find out, of course, they had to tell him seeing as though he had freaked out an hour into the relationship about how old the two both were. Another revelation, which could be slightly anticipated by the Japanese-American, is that Katsuki was definitely more affectionate than Shoto.

Not that Izuku minded, however, it did kind of hurt when the duel-haired man rarely showed him some sort of affection.

"You'll be fine, love," Shoto hummed, turning his attention back onto Izuku whilst raking his fingers through the boy's ringlets.

Damn it if Izuku wasn't a sucker for those pet-names.

"Just remember the objective at hand, to get our hands on those documents, okay? We get those, and you translate the plans— a quick get in get out situation," he added, he and Katsuki sharing an encouraging nod to one another.

Without giving the three a chance to discuss the matter any further, there was a light knock at the door; unfortunately ripping the three a few feet away from one another before Ashido poked her head in.

"We're all ready," she informed them, a nervous look of her own plastered on her face as she chewed her lip. "We gotta get going now,"

Just my luck . . .

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There was a more than large gathering at a local restaurant tonight, mostly due to it being Independence Day. Families out and celebrating with a refined meal, business partners discussing matters of their companies and such with the war going on. In regards to the holiday, it was rather simple to blend into the crowd— making it easy for people to pass on briefcases filled to the brim with plans to other people and slip out.

The objective was to retrieve said briefcase and translate it.

Izuku waited patiently on the roof of the building, a small radio in hand so he could speak with Kaminari— who was posing as a cook— easily. Shoto, Katsuki, and Kirishima would be the ones to retrieve the case, with Shinsou, Sero, and Monoma keeping watch nearby. Once the item was in their possession they'd bring it up to Izuku who'd then translate their plans to English.

Simple.

As long as they didn't get caught.

"Talk to me Kaminari," Izuku radioed in, it had been relatively quiet on the blond's end for a while. "Anything happening yet?"

"Shit— Midoriya we need you to get out of there!" he heard Kaminari's frantic voice call back, followed by the sound of gunshots resonating inside the building.

The young male's eyes widened as he leaped from his position, quickly climbing down the metal ladder and hopping onto a nearby trashcan on the side of the building. Opting for going in through the side door, he sprinted past the kitchen, and into the bare area. That's when he saw it . . . a revolver aimed right for Katsuki and Shoto, another aimed a few yards in front of him.

So he acted on impulse . . .